


pretty isn't everything punkass

by piperpied



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: M/M, Not really angsty, kinda cute, piano boys, punkasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 17:58:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piperpied/pseuds/piperpied
Summary: Woojin’s left to run the piano school after his father passes away, and is shocked (and irritated) to find none other than star student Park Jihoon trying to break into it late one night. Of course, bickering ensues.Or: sneaking around the practice rooms of your piano school and pretending to be annoyed with you is just another excuse for us to flirt.





	pretty isn't everything punkass

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TMYOUTHFW](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TMYOUTHFW) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> pianists au! woojin's father is a pianist and runs a piano school. his father died one day and being a good son, woojin continued to run his father's piano school and just like his father, teaches piano. there he finds his father's favorite student, the best student in class, park jihoon.
> 
> special request: i want it to be as heartwarming and touching as much as possibleㅠㅠ thank you!ㅠㅠ

 

_Late April. An ink sky full of music._

 

Jihoon didn’t consider creeping down a deserted back alley in Seoul at midnight a particularly dangerous feat for a teenage boy. It wasn’t like he was in the middle of the city, where it seemed an ambusher lay in every shadow or scuttling sound, or like he was in the countryside where nobody was around to hear him scream. In fact, the old piano school was across the road from his campus, surrounded by shutup cafes and bookshops, just a block away from the cinema and a buzzing restaurant-ed area. “Stay near human life and you’ll be safe,” he’d heard in just about every self-protection lecture ever at high school.

 

So he doesn’t even have time to be afraid when a dark shape pounces on him as he’s picking the back door lock. He’s just plain shocked, startled, dropping the can of pepper spray he’d, despite himself, been carrying just in case. So much for staying out of harm’s way.

 

Jihoon’s scream would put any soprano to shame, but its quickly silenced by a gloved hand over his mouth.

 

 _Great, how fucking brilliant_ , he wants to shout. He’s getting mugged and nobody can even hear his plea, which completely defeats the point of step two of ‘How to Survive a Mugging,’ - call for help.

 

The person is notably taller than him - he can judge this without seeing them - and their arms may as well be made of iron for all his own can do to break out of them. To make matters worse, he hadn’t read further than step three - jab them in the ribs with an elbow.

 

Though he’s now completely under the guy’s (he shamelessly knows from the flatness of the chest against his back) control, he still kicks and squirms - he won’t be a pussy like in all those stories he’s heard about around campus. Past his pretty face, he’s a fighter.

 

The guy flips him around so they’re face each other, arms impossible to break out of. Jihoon’s heart is beating a million miles a minute, and all he can make out in the light of a streetlamp a block away is shadowy pieces; eyes that are almost horizontal, feline and intimidating, acute cheekbones, and a dark messy fringe coming down to his eyes.

 

He watches them raise their eyebrow as they take him in, a look of something close to what he’d call recognition overcoming their features, if he didn’t know better.

Jihoon writhes.

“If I take my hand off promise you won’t make a sound,” says a deep voice into his ear, deeper than he expects. Jihoon shivers but nods.

 _Yeah, like hell_ , he thinks.

“You better not be lying,” they mutter. They pull away.

 

Jihoon screams. And screams.

“What the fuck-” the boy curses loudly, a thick satoori accent overwhelming his voice. The smaller tries to run while screaming, but the boy’s arms are still clamped around him.

“Dammit,” huffs Jihoon, thoroughly screamed out.

“Jesus fucking christ, someone’s gonna think I was murdering you,” swears the boy, his face the picture of distress as he shakes Jihoon a little.

“Where the hell are the sirens and police men pointing guns and shit like in the movies?” the smaller boy complains, making another thrashing motion.

 

The brunette sighs like he does this daily; who knows, maybe he’s a childcare worker?

Not that Jihoon is a child.

 

“The deserted alley and phrase ‘like in the movies’ are both clear indicators,” the boy snaps back. “I’m sure you can put together the rest.”

 

Jihoon scowls at him, annoyed he can’t see his face properly so maybe he could remember to punch it later.

 

“Are you gonna keep holding me captive and steal my wallet or something?” he questions loudly, harshly.

“Coming from someone who robs old piano schools.” The boy glares at him through his fringe.

Jihoon double takes. Did he mention it being a piano school? He doesn’t believe so, not with being silenced for a good minute or so.

He scoffs. “Why would I want to rob a piano school?”

The boy shrugs. “I’m asking myself the same question. Got a thing for dusty, loud instruments?”

Jihoon coughs, “NO.”

“Well then,” he considers him, scanning him with narrowed eyes, “What the hell are you doing in this alley with a can of pepper spray then?”

 

Jihoon honestly wants to ask himself the same question. And the pepper spray, what a waste of a good five thousand won.

 

The issue was; Jihoon didn’t own a piano. Couldn’t, living in a shared dorm at college, and he’d destroyed his keyboard by spilling a bowl of milk and cereal on it several months ago. The piano school had been, for a while then, his only place to practice.

 

On top of lessons, he’d been allotted the kindness of Mr. Park to pick his favourite, ‘actual’ piano and play there whenever he pleased. He had a particular liking for an upright Steinway made of rosewood, created sometime in the last century, and it had grown on him. Then there had been the accident, and the funeral. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a father, or a brother, or a friend, though losing the old man with his greying beard and little round spectacles was probably close to it, he thought. He’d never experienced loss firsthand, and so grimly, mercilessly, there one minute and gone forever the next.

 

That was over two months ago. He’d been trying to piece his disarrayed life back together, and playing again was the only way he saw how to - knew how to. But without the money to buy a new keyboard and the school being closed, lock picking was his one and only choice. He’d never seen any danger in it of course, at least nothing some chemicals jizzed out of a can couldn’t help.

 

“If you let go of me,” Jihoon replies carefully, taking the chance to bargain his freedom, “I’ll tell you why I’m here.”

 

The boy rolls his eyes at this. “You really think I care that much?” he challenges.

“Yes,” Jihoon replies defiantly, sticking up his chin. “I do actually. Otherwise, why else would  _you_ be out here too?” He pokes his chest to try and assert his dominance or something, but instead ends up hurting his finger and possibly crushing his pride further.

 

The boy is unfazed.

“Okay,” he relents nonchalantly. “Whatever. Just don’t do something stupid like run to out onto the street and start saying I tried to abduct you.”

Somebody has turned on a light in the building above them, and the yellow glow enables the boy to see Jihoon’s ears glowing red at the tips.

“Deal,” Jihoon mutters resentfully.  

 

He’s finally released.

“Sorry, by the way,” says the boy lazily, carding a hard through his hair.

“A little late,” mutters Jihoon.

The boy looks at him expectantly, “So?”  

“So, a short, abridged version of the truth,” Jihoon says.

He puts his hands into his jean pockets. “I was a student here at the piano school but it shut down,” he starts. “I’m also a student there,” he points at what he thinks is the direction of the college, “and therefore a broke and pitiful soul who can’t afford a keyboard. There’s a vault of perfectly fine instruments in there, so I figure it’s not really illegal for me to use them at night.”

 

The boy considers him with a cool, thoughtful gaze.

“Definitely not legal, but I sort of get it,” he finally replies.

Jihoon’s brow furrows. “You do?”

The boy produces a small, sad smile. Of course, that could just be the play of shadow on unfamiliar features.

 

“If you want to play,” he starts up,“You should pass by here on Friday. Around nine in the morning, if it suits you.”

“Huh?” Jihoon puzzles.

The boy offers him a tiny smile. “Come by,” he says with what Jihoon almost believes is sympathy. “You’ll see.”

He revises his timetable for that day in his mind. He isn’t sure what propels him to do so, to consider the definitely weird and possibly dangerously offer from the almost-mugger boy.

“I guess it’s possible,” he mutters. _But like, what the fuck,_ he wants to say.

We all make decisions in dark alleys we eventually regret, he supposes.

 

“Good,” replies the boy curtly. “You should go now. It’s getting late.”

Jihoon scoffs. “Who are you, my mother?”

The boy emits a scowl. “No,” he snaps, “just someone who knows you’ll get mugged for real with a face like that if you stay out here.”

Jihoon can’t help the flood of heat that overwhelms him for the words ‘face like that’. However, determined not to be fazed, he folds his arms over his chest defensively.

“I like to think of my face as an advantage rather than a disadvantage, thanks,” Jihoon snaps.

The other boy’s eyes glitter darkly; a challenge.

“Pretty isn’t everything, punkass,” he calls back, striding off into the night.

  


He leaves Jihoon alone and trying to piece together what the fuck had just transpired. Particularly the part where he decided to trust a complete stranger who happened to have superhuman strength and had just called him ‘pretty’.

 

After a second however, he’s forced to move as he finds he is shivering from standing still. Pushing his legs to walk forward, he heads in the direction of his dorm. There, Jinyoung will have fallen asleep probably while watching anime, the cartoon blaring through his earphones as he drools onto his pillow. Jihoon walks back to routine, and familiarity, and bright lit corridors where he’s out of harm’s way.

 

But he can’t push down the unsettlement left by the interaction in the alley, the boy with his fierce features, sad smile. He feels it there like a knot in a thread, a disturbance of water, a sequence of notes that stops prematurely. Questioningly.

 

***

 

(Woojin’s POV)

 

_February. The sky is slowly trickling apart._

 

Woojin stopped music when his father died. Halted, refused to play, not now and not ever, probably. The piano had been his solution to every unanswered question from those rocky early years of highschool; shy and unable to adjust, overwhelmed by new faces and that only made him want to hide inside his own skin. He’d go to the music rooms that were all but deserted, and suddenly he’d be home. That’s difficult now that the one who had brought him home, taught him the basics, is gone.

 

“Woojin-ah, why don’t you give it a try again?” his friends urge him softly. “It won’t be as bad you think, you know.”

Maybe it won’t be. It could even make him better. But maybe it isn’t as simple as a quick diagnosis and prescription medicine - this sort of healing.

 

Nevertheless, his friends try to help out in their own ways. Yerim and Sooyoung drag him out of his dorm for what usually turn into shopping trips with him trailing along, while Seongwoo and Minhyun - the latter of whom Seongwoo seems to always be attached to these days - take the long route on the drive home so they don’t pass by his father’s piano school. Sungwoon and Jimin pop over sometimes bringing along Jimin’s friend Taehyung, like friendly aunts leaving little cakes covered in fruit in his fridge, or insisting they all have a movie night and filling the apartment with the scent of roasting corn and butter.

 

His mouth is sewn close over words he cannot say to them. The only person he’d let hear them is Daehwi, his best friend, but he had moved to America in the last 6 months and he or his family didn’t have the money to buy him a ticket over. They call each other at least 5 times a day, and text even more often. He wishes Daehwi was here, but he wishes for a lot of impossible things lately.    


***

_May. Air that tastes like flowers._

 

Daehwi’s phone rings when he’s halfway through his afternoon freshman biology class. He silences it, checking the caller ID first. And because it’s Woojin, and he’d probably sell his soul for that boy even if logic prompted him not to, he excuses himself to the bathroom and calls him back in less than a minute.

 

“Hello?” says the older uncertainly.

“What’s up?” Daehwi asks, curiousity heightening.

 

“I’m - I have the keys to my dad’s piano school,” he says slowly through the line. “I think I’m gonna take it over.”

 

There’s a pause. “To be honest,” carries on Woojin, rambling now, “I’m not quite sure why I called but I’m not at all sorry if it made you miss class or get in trouble.”

 

Daehwi can _hear_ Woojin’s growing smile down the phone line and he thinks _what sort of fucking miracle is this, if it’s making Park Woojin smile for the first time in months_.

 

“That’s great Woojin. Really, it’s fucking fantastic.” says Daehwi with a smile.

He hears Woojin smirk, “Like I needed your approval.”

Daehwi rolls his eyes, “actually, you kind of always need it.”

Woojin mutters something like, “hey watch it,” and “aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

Daehwi rolls his eyes. No matter what shit Woojin said, he’d always manage to inspire some kind of affection in him.

“Goodbye, chamsae,” he replies sweetly.

“Bye nerd,” mutters the elder. “Chamhwi is dead to me.”

Daehwi grins and says, “you’re all heart eyes for me let’s face it.”

“You wish,” says Woojin, and they click off.

 

[Hwang Gang™]

Members: Woojin, Daehwi, Youngmin, Seongwoo, Minhyun, Sungwoon, Jimin, Taehyung

 

pwoojin: guys i have some news

 

voiceofreason: ooh whats up woojinie

 

pwoojin: youngmin i havent seen you in ages

 

pwoojin: actually its not that interesting im just taking over my dads piano school

 

kimtaehoe: wooooojin thats great ^.^ !!!

 

surprisebitch: aaah im so happy for u bab :))

 

cheerupbaby: hoes he told me first im his fav

 

surprisebitch: i smell romance

 

pwoojin: please stop seongwoo i gagged // no offense hwi

 

cheerupbaby: @pwoojin none taken baby xoxo

 

voiceofreason: @pwoojin @cheerupbaby youre all gayer than agust d

 

pwoojin: onmg my QUEEN

 

cheerupbaby: in case yall forgot baejin is my 1 and only

 

kimtaehoe: @cheerupbaby my friend jihoonie is roomies with him i could introduce u guys

 

cheerupbaby: interesting...

 

pwoojin: okay bye i have a class to get to

 

voiceofreason: goodbuy

 

kimtaehoe: buy RM’s latest single, Expensive Girl, on iTunes!

 

notshort#2(jimin): ^^ what he said

 

surprisebitch: @hwangminhyun bitch if you aren’t here in ten minutes im pounding your ass and NOT in the good way

 

***

  


(Jihoon’s POV)

 

_Friday._

 

The week trips on, and Jihoon feels like a feather caught in the storm of college life. His chemistry course is dull and what goes through one ear comes out the other. The only solace he usually finds in music and piano has been flushed out by his busy schedule, preventing him from visiting the piano school. Among this, the thought of the boy in the alley creeps into his mind at one point or another, which he adamantly tries to push away. He is a single, hazy impression of dark hair, conspiring eyes, lips on the verge of curling into a smirk - but not quite. It’s also usually accompanied by a wave of slight nausea, the onset of him regretting his decision in the alleyway. What sort of person would put to him such a strange offer anyway? Possibly someone insane, he thinks. Possibly a psychopath, even. And the best were the ones who were cute.

 

Friday rolls around like a familiar stab in the back. It’s a day that betrays you no matter what because, even though you know the week is ending, it still hasn’t literally _ended_.

 

Jihoon sleeps through his alarm thanks to having spent the night up playing Outcast with Jinyoung, and his eyes are a puffy mess that he can’t be bothered to care about. In fact, this general attitude applies to all of his dishevelled appearance. Nevertheless, he thankfully gets his shit together quickly and even if he flies out the door still crunching cereal in his mouth and half dressed, he’s pretty proud of himself.

 

The quaint little building has a bell above the door that tinkles when you push it. Inside is exactly how he remembers it - and also completely different. There’s the same little receptionist desk - occupied by a cute brunette girl with clips in her hair who is new.

 

Her head perks up as he enters and she smiles brightly.

“Hi there,” she chirps, “anything I can do for you?”

 

Jihoon shuffles in the doorway. “Actually,” he starts, struggling to figure out how to explain  _‘I met a dude in a back alley who thinks he owns this place and he told me to quote unquote ‘come by’_ _._

 

However, he’s postponed by the door beside the desk - the one that lead to the lesson room and practice rooms - swinging open.

 

“Yuna where the hell are my Pepero sticks I only bought them yesterday; and no that’s not an invitation for you to steal the - oh.”

The guy cuts off as he meets Jihoon’s eyes. Jihoon’s stomach drops suddenly as he realises it’s The guy, and he looks, for the first time since Jihoon’s met him, caught off guard.

 

While Jihoon is wearing bright colours different to his dark attire from last night, the boy doesn’t look too different. He’s wearing a black sweatshirt covered in zippers and ripped, tight jeans, fringe a little less disorder.

 

Before Jihoon knows what he’s doing - and judging by the scowl on the boy’s face it can’t be good - he’s blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind, and that’s, “Well you certainly look happy to see me.” A silence lapses between the three of them and he thinks he might actually jump out the glass window when the girl - Yuna - starts laughing.

“Jin-ah,” she snickers. Jin-ah?; thinks Jihoon.

She continues her spiel of embarrassment, “You know you should introduce me to your Friend;”- and yes she smirks over those words - “before you invite them over.” A cheeky grin splits her face. “Introducing yourself first would be a good idea too,” she adds.

 

Woojin’s face heats to an unignorable shade of red, her words finally snapping him into action.

 

“Nonono it’s nothing like that ,” pipes up Jihoon, eyes wide, just as Woojin exclaims, “First of all he’s not even my type,” over the top.

 

Both their mouths snap shut, only making the cute brunette girl’s laughter increase. She raises her hands in surrender at Woojin’s murderous expression.

“Ok ok macho-man,” she concedes, “I get it. I’m sorry.”

Woojin scowls. “This is my sister Yuna, in case you were wondering,” he says by way of introduction to Jihoon. “She’s obviously a ball of joy,” he adds bitterly.

The girl rolls her eyes.

“I’m Jihoon,” says Jihoon to the younger girl.

She smiles, a little more shyly this time. “I know,” she explains matter-of-factly.

Jihoon feels the familiar wave of anger rise up in him, but he ignores it (like he always does). It wasn’t her fault. Nearly everyone had heard of him around campus after freshman Jeon Somi had started that rumour about him being signed to a modelling agency, and now it felt like everyone and his pet turtle knew about Park Jihoon.

 

“So, let’s do this?” says Woojin. Jihoon snaps his attention to the tall brunette now leaning one hand casually on the desk. His initial awkwardness has faded to nearly zero, apparently, a mildly cocky expression shaping his face.

 

Jihoon forces a smile. Right, the reason he’d come in the first place. Piano. That thing.

The boy turns around and begins to walk down the corridor off which the practice and lesson rooms are situated.

 

“So, do you own this place or something?” the other asks, trailing behind with faster steps to match the boy’s.

“Something like that,” he replies.

 

The corridor is lined with windows letting in sunlight on one side, and doors on the other. As far as he was concerned, this was Mr. Park’s place - his place - and would always be. The man lingered everywhere, and it hurt coming in the broad daylight when the darkness would usually render it half-unrecognisable.

“So,” starts the boy, standing off to the side of the room they both enter with his arms crossed. “You can come here to play whenever we’re open,” he states curtly, “I’m not using this room so it should be fine.”

His expression is stern but curious, gaze cutting through to his.

 

The smaller brunette frowns.

“There’s no catch?” he asks, eyeing the boy suspiciously. “Shouldn’t I pay... or something?”

 

The boy shakes his head, smacks his lips. “Nope,” he insists. “Just some thanks to yours truly would suffice.”

 

Jihoon half nods, gnawing his lip. “I’m Jihoon,” he blurts out of nowhere.

Woojin nods unfazedly, “I know,” he says.

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “So you ARE a serial killer?” he asks in disbelief, and a little fear.

Woojin waves a hand, eyes turning into slits as he laughs softly, quietly amused.

“No nothing like that,” he says. “My dad mentioned you a bit, that’s all. Sounds like you were pretty good.”

 

“Wait you’re…” Jihoon’s eyes widen as realisation dawns in him. “Oh my…”

Woojin nods sheepishly. “Park Woojin,” he helps. “Pleasure to supply you with an a legal means of playing piano,” he adds in, lips twitching.

 

An “oh,” falls out of Jihoon’s mouth. Firstly because Mr. Park, the man he’d looked up to and admired so much had talked about him; to his own son. And secondly because Woojin, the weird and broody as heck kid he’d met in an alley, is his son;, what the fuck.

 

“Really, I don’t actually know that much about you,” the snaggletoothed boy adds in, sensing his tension, “if that makes it any less weird.” Jihoon ignores the brief look up and down Woojin gives him, so fast he isn’t sure it happens himself.

 

A physical analysis of Jihoon would reveal a harmless-looking teen, 5 foot 8, wearing a white shirt, black jeans, and a blue hoodie. He’s got pink dumpling-like cheeks, a small nose, and brown hair; all in all, he’s the textbook definition of sweet-and-innocent, though most people have learnt to know better.

 

“There isn’t much to know,” Jihoon says, laughing off-key.

 

Woojin lifts an eyebrow, “for someone who breaks locks to old piano shops at night, that's a big understatement.”

 

Jihoon matches the challenge in the other boy’s eyes. “So is saying I’m you ‘pretty good’ at playing,” he shoots back.

 

The taller boy presses his lips in a barely contained smirk.

“Right, well,” he picks up, “don’t be too noisy, I have a lesson to teach.”

 

'It’s a piano', thinks Jihoon. The guy had really said ‘hey don’t be too noisy making that noise.’ Idiot.

 

Woojin shuts the door behind him.

Whatever, it wasn’t like they’d be seeing all that much of each other anyway, what with Jihoon having his own separate room and the brunette constantly teaching lessons. Jihoon could work with this.

 

***

 

(Woojin’s POV)

 

When Woojin plants down his books on the bench table, he’s met face-to-face with Yerim with her hands on her hips, looking ready to tell him off.

 

“Please explain to me why I saw Park Jihoon leaving your piano store this morning and maybe then we can have a civilised lunch,” she states, staring him down with that penetrating gaze of hers.

 

Woojin’s heart drops at the mention of the name. The feeling of dread is quickly chased away by confusion; how had she known it was Park Jihoon? Why was she even so mad about the whole thing? Heck, why the hell was she at the piano store anyway? He opens and closes his mouth several times before finally speaking.

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he manages out.

Yerim sighs dramatically, uncrossing her arms.

“You know, if you’re teaching him now you should’ve at least told me,” she says. “I could be your second secretary or something.” She picks a fry out of a styrofoam box and bites the end off it, a little scarily.

“I-I’m not teaching him,” replies Woojin.

“Then why is he there?” she exclaims, “Do you guys have something-”

“No!” blurts the brunette, waving his hands up in protest. “He’s just using the practice rooms because he doesn’t have a piano and it’s better than him breaking in to use them at night.” The words leave his mouth before he knows what’s happening - he does that alot.

 

Yerim breaks into a cheshire grin, and Woojin belatedly realises what’s just happened. Right, curses Woojin internally.

'You just gave her everything she wanted, idiot,' he thinks

“Oh,” says Yerim, face turning innocent and wide eyed. “Thanks.”

“I can’t believe you,” curses Woojin. “Wait no scratch that. I can’t believe Me.”

Yerim shrugs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We can’t all be as smart as I am, sweetie.”

Woojin rolls his eyes and takes his lunch out of his bag without replying.

Something occurs to him as he removes a burger from its paper.

“Why is everyone so damn obsessed with him anyway? First Yuna and then you….” He knows it sounds like he’s whining, but if he’s whining so bloody be it.

Yerim’s face falls. “Really, Woojin…” she starts.

He prepares himself for another one of her speeches about how he’s so oblivious he’s miss a zombie apocalypse.

“Park Jihoon’s like….” she trails off, thinking. “He’s like a god,” she finally produces, stopping to slurp her chocolate milk. Woojin scoffs. Yeah right. “And Jeon Somi spread a rumour about him being signed to a big modelling agency so now he’s really famous, not just around here but online.”

 

Woojin almost laughs. A boy who snuck around at night in smelly alleys and didn’t sleep because he was playing piano was some kind of celebrity? That sounded like Him, and Woojin was a million miles from popular. You could fit all the people who knew him into a large sized toilet cubicle.

 

“Okaaaay,” he remarks, eyeing her quizzically, “So everyone’s swooning over someone with permanent bedhead who has some mad lock picking skills.”

 

Yerim shakes her head.

“He’s super duper talented at piano too,” she explains. Woojin can’t speak for that since he’s never actually heard the boy play but it seems to be true (although being good looking and also good at piano hardly seems fair).

“Thanks,” Woojin says to her as she resumes her lunch, though he isn’t exactly sure what he’s thanking her for.

 

***

Waiting between classes, Woojin checks his gc that had been buzzing all day.

 

[5:31pm]

surprisebitch: anyone around for last minute movie night

 

surprisebitch: minhyun’s buying family sized mars pods

 

notshort#1: seongwoo i thought movie nights were mY job

 

hwangminhyun: i never consented to spending my money for children

 

kimtaehoe: we’ll pay u back pleaaaase hyung :)))

 

notshort#2(jimin): shutup taehung youre a broke bitchas s

 

voiceofreason: hello it is i, youngmin

 

surprisebitch: oh hey hey

 

surprisebitch: movie night at me and woojin’s and minhyun’s buying us all pizza , u in?

 

voiceofreason: u had me at free pizza

cheerupbaby: hi from your fav timezone anti

 

cheerupbaby: what trainwreck did i just walk into

 

kimtaehoe: u walked into a trainwreck daehwi-ah ?? that sounds dangerous b careful ^-^ 

 

Woojin snorts. The reel of messages ends there, the last one sent 3 seconds ago.

 

barbequesauceonmytitties: hola

 

surprisebitch: hey there roomie

 

bbqsauceonmytiddies: hey homo

 

bbqsauceonmytiddies: *homie, oops ^^

 

kimtaehoe: asfsdgsagsa

 

bbqsauceonmytiddies: ive actually had a kind of shitty day,,, my teachers think conspiring to put all my exams into one week is amusing

 

cheerupbaby: @bbqsauceonmytiddies oh im sad to hear that (refer to my name)

 

bbqsauceonmytiddies: thanks hwi

 

cheerupbaby: i love u bitch

 

voiceofreason: being in this gc always feels like forth or fifth wheeling i s2g

 

surprisebitch: @bbqsauceonmytiddies i wouldnt have invited them if i knew u were having a bad day :( sorry

 

bbqsauceonmytiddies: s’okay ^-^

 

bbqsauceonmytiddies: u should all come over

 

surprisebitch: we’ll eat and itll b fun n stuff

 

surprisebitch: i feel like i havent seen u all in ages

 

notshort#2: yeah just minhyun 

 

brostuff: HI why do i keep seeing my name pop up jesus

 

surprisebitch: yes, jesus, that’s your name

 

surprisebitch: so everyone come over at around 6??

 

bbqsauceonmytiddies: i have a lesson to teach at 4 but 6 sounds good ^^

 

voiceofreason: sounds good hyung

 

cheerupbaby: ill be there in spirit

 

voiceofreason: @cheerupbaby i miss u little shit

 

cheerupbaby: u too youngminie … 

  


Woojin heads over to the school after class the following afternoon. He’s got a lesson scheduled in with Nayoung, a girl in elementary school and one of his father’s old students he used to babysit in the waiting room when her mum was late from work. The little girl greets him with a smile that shows off her missing front tooth, hair split into two little braids, and offers him a bag of chocolate coins. Woojin accepts it with a smile and thinks kids really are a gift not from this earth. Woojin collects Nayoung’s hand from her mother and leads her down to the practice rooms while chatting to her softly.

 

They finish up around forty minutes later.

“Good work Nayoung-ie,” he compliments her, beaming. “Just remember to practice those trills in the sonata, and work on the jumps in your left hand.”

Ms. Choi stands with a smile when she sees them.

“Thank you, Woojin,” she says. “Nayoung seems to be very attached to you,” she smiles warmly.  

Woojin chuckles fondly. “She’s a very good student, Ms. Choi,” he says sincerely.

She nods, then opens her arms for the little girl to run to. “Nayoung-ah come on, mummy’s got to go.”

 

The little girl clings to his arm, refusing to go to her mother with a stubborn pout, gazing up at him with her big, puppy-brown eyes that remind Woojin of someone else he can’t place.

 

He says, “go on,” and, “tell you what, I’ll bring you a treat next lesson.”

Nayoung, grinning and obviously pleased by this, runs to her mum. Woojin waves goodbye to them before slumping down into one of the chairs in the waiting room.

 

Thankfully he doesn’t have any other lessons scheduled until the day after tomorrow. Which is a relief, because he has a lot of work to catch up on. He locks up the building and heads out to his beat up Ford.

 

The patter of sneaker shoes against concrete alerts him to the figure approaching him. From his head of brown hair, Woojin belatedly realises it’s none other than Park Jihoon. Woojin has half the mind to greet him first and steps into the boy’s path, but his mouth fails to produce the words of greeting, and suddenly the moment is already upon them both. Let’s just say Jihoon - who hasn’t seen him yet - almost rams his head into Woojin until he looks up at the last minute.

 

“Oh,” exclaims the smaller brunette, springing back in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

 

“Well,” he replies lamely, “I’m- here.” He isn’t sure why his brain suddenly fails him, and but it surely it has more to do with being a big fat introvert, and nothing to do with the pink dusting the boy’s cheeks and eyes staring at him like sunlight pouring through honey.

 

Jihoon nods at him curtly, a white pillow of air swirling from his lips.

“Well,” he begins softly, “I’m just grabbing some music I left in the room so don’t mind me.”

Woojin nods at him, dropping his gaze. Suddenly the sky cracks open, unleashing a spell of rain.

 

Jihoon pauses in his steps.

“What is it?” Woojin asks, cocking his head.

Jihoon shakes his head, “nothing,” he mutters, “just thinking about the fun time i’ll have walking home through that.” He laughs bitterly.

 

Well, Woojin can’t exactly just leave him there, now can he?

 

Like always, Daehwi’s voice floats into his consciousness, saying “suck it up and save one poor kid from hypothermia.”

 

Woojin bites his lip. “I could uh-” he breaks off, looking away from the expectant gaze of the brunette, “...give you a ride if you want.” “If your dorm isn’t far,” he adds.

 

Jihoon shakes his head rapidly. “Really it’s okay,” he protests, shivering in his flannel over a tshirt as window blows a mist of rain into them, “I’ve done it before.”

Woojin rolls his eyes. “Seriously,” he says, “if you don’t say yes I’m gonna bring my car around here and get you myself.”

'Ok, maybe a little too much', he thinks, wincing.

Luckily, Jihoon laughs, and maybe Woojin’s eyes deceive him but his cheeks turn a little pinker when their exertion should be fading.

“Really isn’t helping your whole I’m-not-a-psychopath image,” he responds, but his lips are twitching into a smile.  

“Right,” Woojin enunciates, hitting the ‘t’.

Jihoon pauses. Woojin shifts on his feet awkwardly, waiting.

 

“Okay,” the other boy relents. Woojin sighs in relief - of what, he isn’t sure.

“Just let me get my stuff and I’ll meet you out here, okay?” he opens up the door and steps into the building throwing a grateful smile in Woojin’s direction.

Woojin feels his pulse calm itself momentarily.

It’s approximately thirty seconds later that Jihoon steps back outside, music tucked under his sweater to shield it from the rain falling down in thick sheets.

 

“Good to go?” asks Woojin.

Jihoon nods quickly, “You lead the way.”

 

Woojin dashes through the rain first and dives into the car while Jihoon actually waits in the undercroft area. He plunges the key into the ignition, backing out and coming closer to where Jihoon is waiting. The boy dives in, letting out a small squeak as rain hits the back of his neck.

 

“A raindrop just assaulted me,” he mutters ruefully, a shiver visibly running through his body.

Woojin actually laughs in surprise. A scared Jihoon is a pretty amusing one. “You probably deserved it,” he jokes.

Jihoon frowns. “So basically, god has me blacklisted,” he mutters ruefully.

Woojin guides the car out of the lot and to the driveway onto the road.

“I mean, some would say you do give off a strong first impression,” he remarks. He sees him roll his eyes in his peripheral vision.

“Can we just Not talk about that ever again,” he requests, fiddling with the edge of his sweater.

“Even the pepper spray…”

“Hey!” scolds Jihoon. He buries his face in his hands.

Woojin perseveres, smirk creeping into his lips, “and that scream, wow… ”

“Oh my god stop,” mutters the smaller boy, a flush branded on his cheeks. “Everyone’s gonna be know about it at this rate.”

Woojin raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s not like they weren’t talking about you before,” he says suggestively.

Jihoon frowns. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

They drive on down the main boulevard towards the entry point into the college.

The small, frizzier-haired boy punches his finger at buttons on the control system “How the HELL do you work this thing it’s at least a decade old,” he complains.

Luckily Woojin pulls up at a red light then, and can turn his attention to Jihoon’s merciless jabbing.

Woojin curses. “Whatthefuckstop,” he exclaims to other boy.

Luckily, Jihoon does stop after a moment, huffing and withdrawing back into his seat.

 

“Thank god baby I thought I had lost you...” Woojin mutters to the car while patting it, making Jihoon hit him not-so-lightly on the shoulder which makes him yelp in surprise.

 

Woojin attaches his phone to the connector cable and flips on his playlist called ‘rainy anime aesthetic, but music.’ He’s a fucking basic bitch he knows okay.

 

Jihoon swings his toe against the side of the car. “She’s a Baby,” floats into the car through the speaker, and he immediately rolls his eyes.

“What?” asks Woojin, annoyance creeping into his tone. He knew, no surprise, Park Jihoon would be one of those people who judged everything about his taste. Suddenly, the boy’s about fifty percent less endearing.

 

“Don’t you have something else?” Jihoon sighs deeply, like it’s the most torturous experience of his life.

He huffs, switching the phone screen off while the music keeps playing. “No actually,” he replies pointedly, “i picked this one because it suits you.”

Jihoon stares at him.“Are - are you hitting on me?” he says incredulously.

Woojin feels the verbal equivalent of keyboard smash rush to his lips.

“No!” he exclaims, flailing his hands. “I meant you were a BABY.”

He’s definitely not imagining the chuckle that escapes Jihoon’s lips, and he scowls in response. A prick. But a cute one.

 

Somebody beeps him from behind, and he realises the light has turned green and he’s still sitting in front of a line of cars.

“Great,” he curses, squeezing the accelerator.

 

They zoom past rows of buildings and green spaces; classrooms, parks, small and thriving cafes packed with people on the rainy afternoon. The car rounds the side of the concrete building. Rain is falling in a veiled mist, light enough for people to walk in without umbrellas.

 

Jihoon clears his throat. “You can just drop me on this corner,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Woojin complies wordlessly, swerving toward the gutter and hitting the breaks.

 

“Don’t slip,” he says, half anxiously.

 

Jihoon shoots him a small smile from his seat, and suddenly the car seems way too small. The other boy hesitates and says, “Wait.”

 

Woojin glances up at him. “What?” he asks carefully.

Jihoon nibbles his lip. “Shouldn’t you give me your number?” he begins. Woojin swears his heart skips a beat. “What?” he asks again.

Jihoon cuts in, “for emergency purposes, of course,” he adds sheepishly, “like if someone breaks into the store or something.”

 

Oh. he wants to smack himself.

“Right, of course.” He quickly keys in his number, and the boy sends him a “:)” face in reply.

 

Thankfully Jihoon hops out of the car then. “Thanks for the lift,” he chirps, standing up on the pavement and waving Woojin off while the other boy drives away, heart returning to its normal speed.

 

***

 

When he arrives back at his dorm, Seongwoo is out. Woojin pulls out his own phone to as something occurs to him. He opens his private messages with youngmin, the one who expects least to tease him about this.

 

woojin: hey u there

 

youngmin: ?? whats up 

 

Woojin takes a breath, hesitant to type out the next message.

 

woojin: do u know a jihoon?

 

youngmin is typing

 

youngmin: theres alot of jihoons on campus hyung

 

youngmin: you’re gonna have to be more specific

 

woojin: right

 

woojin: its park jihoon , ring any bells??  

 

Woojin waits for a reply. One comes after a few seconds.

 

youngmin: oh yeah the pretty one

 

youngmin: my sis likes him ha

 

woojin: yeah mine too??

 

woojin: and yeri??  

 

woojin: don’t see the appeal lol

 

youngmin: he was your dad’s student wasnt he

 

woojin: yea but like i’d only heard his name a bit not like ‘o hes a fucking celebrity btw’

 

youngmin: welp hes got an ig with piano vids and selcas and stuff w lots of followers if u wanna learn more 

 

Woojin’s eyebrows shoot up at that. He considers asking for the link, but thinks that would be going too far.

 

woojin: nah im good

 

woojin: see u child

 

youngmin: bye embryo

 

Youngmin: see u tonite :) 

 

Woojin tosses his phone onto the bed. He feels oddly restless and can’t seem to shake the feeling. He decides to shower, hoping the hot water will flush it out of his system.

 

Once he’s out, he opens up his phone again and opens instagram. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing or what he’s even looking for, fingers hovering over the search bar. After a moment’s deliberation he types in “park jihoon”. Of course, a hundred accounts come up that don’t belong to the boy. He considers giving up after a few tries produce only more dead ends and growing shame. Then, by a stroke of luck (would he call it luck?) his finger slips on the Apple word suggestions above the keyboard, selecting the word ‘punk’ instead of ‘park’.

 

Suddenly, an account under the name of ‘punkjihoon’ blips to the top of the suggested accounts list. 'Well well would you look at that, I’m a genius,' he thinks.

 

It’s profile image is definitely a selca of none other than jihoon himself and though Woojin can’t properly make out he knows Jihoon looks good. Knowing he’ll regret it, he clicks on the page.

 

The page is minimalistic but has a cute, innocent vibe; somehow woojin isn’t surprised. He has over 200k followers. Not bad, he thinks. There are a few selcas and model-esque medium shots of Jihoon that Woojin tries not to ogle; instead he taps the video of Jihoon playing piano about 4 rows down. By the looks of things, he hasn’t posted any videos of the sort for a while.

 

Here Jihoon’s hair is blacker, and its pushed up from his face to show his forehead. He puts the volume up on his phone, and suddenly piano music floods into the interior of his room. It’s something he’d pick himself, all chromatic and full of notes running into each other to create a sense of unpredictability, building up and dying down in a way that tugs at Woojin’s heart. It’s clearly difficult, really freaking difficult; Woojin will give him that.

 

He clicks on another video without thinking, and the piece that plays this time is something Woojin knows, and loves, but has never tried to play. It’s something by Chopin, and he feels the music creep under his skin, his pulse rising and falling as the notes fall out effortlessly like rain.

 

He doesn’t notice that his jaw is wide open until the video ends.

Woojin stares at the phone screen, half dumbstruck. 'Well fuck', he wants to say. Then he does say it, outloud, because no one's stopping him. He holds the phone in his hand, not sure what to do.

 

Just then, his finger slips again (they’re doing a lot of that lately) and he accidentally clicks on an image of Jihoon. The boy is poised holding an icecream cone and a spot of ice cream is smeared on his nose, which is all scrunched up in an endearing way. He’s wearing a beanie with a brown-gold fringe poking out from under it in all directions, and Woojin practically groans in annoyance out loud. Even his shitty, messy beanie hair is fucking charming. 'He probably spent ages arranging his hair like that', he assures himself. Right, of course.

 

The crunching sound of keys in the door alerts Woojin to reality. He jumps, nearly throwing his phone across the room.

 

“Woojinie-ah?” a voice calls softly.

There’s a sudden crash, and some swearing.

Woojin manifests at the door.

“You called?” he asks.

Seongwoo, still wearing his long black coat over a white button up and jeans, straightens up from where he’s tidying the fallen coffee table with a sheepish smile.  
“I’m not the greatest multitasker clearly,” he states by way of replying, eyeing the mess and then looking back at the younger with a sheepish grin.

Woojin lets out a laugh. “Don’t blame me for your own clumsiness,” he teases. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which one is the hyung between them.

 

“What were you doing?” asks the elder as he pads around him into the kitchen.

Woojin falters, then clears his throat. “Reading,” he blurts out. Fuck.

Seongwoo spins around to look at him incredulously. “Really?” he inquires, eyebrows rising.

Woojin nods frantically. “Yep,” he insists, “Reading comics, I mean,” he adds, hopefully covering his tracks (Woojin would only ever read something that is 95% pictures and Seongwoo knows that).

Understanding settles on the elder’s face. “Oh, of course,” he replies. Woojin breathes a sigh of relief.

 

Once Seongwoo changes into comfy clothes, he and Woojin make order pizza, taking everyone’s orders on the group chat so they can eat right away (“Hyung didn’t Minhyun say no?” “Believe it or not I’m actually a responsible adult who can pay for himself, Woojin-ah.”).

 

Their friends pile in; Jimin and Sungwoon turn up wearing lycra after recently finishing a dance performance and rushing over, Minhyun almost falls in through the front door right on Seongwoo’s face and the younger won’t stop blushing for the whole night, Taehyung is late and has decided to bring his dog even though ’pets are strictly off limits’ (not like that’s stopping Kim Taehyung). Youngmin arrives last, dragging along a boy named Jinyoung who’s stupidly handsome just like most of Woojin’s friends. But it’s okay because they’re all in their scruffiest tracksuit pants and oversized sweaters (except the two shortest boys), hair dishevelled and laughing their fucking lungs out. It feels good and solid, something Woojin had come to rely on after losing his father; an anchor in a sea of uncertainties.

 

Except now, one of those uncertainties was a certain boy with pretty eyes and a quick temper, that Woojin’s mind keeps returning to.

 

[11:35pm]

punkass: are u up?

 

Woojin’s phone buzzes and he nearly chokes on his mouthful of toothpaste. He quickly spits the lot out, returning to his bed as he thinks of how to reply.

 

woojin: yep

 

woojin: broken into any piano schools yet? 

 

A few moments pass and Woojin grows impatient.

 

punkass: been thinking about it when the one who owns this one is such a prick :)))

 

Woojin tries to be mad, he really does.

 

woojin: a prick who gave you free access to his pianos idiot

 

woojin: also i saw your videos

 

Fuck, he hadn’t meant to mention that.

 

punkass: you have???

 

punkass: im sort of flattered but also wtf im changing your nickname to serial killer

 

woojin: uh, my friend was showing me them she’s got a crush on u

 

punkass: rlly, whats her name?

 

woojin: yeri 

 

Woojin swears. If this got back to him he’d be dead.

 

punkass: welp im going to bed now

 

woojin: oh okay

 

punkass: thank u woojin, seriously

 

woojin: yeah u owe me

 

woojin: gn punk.

 

Woojin thinks that maybe it isn’t as simple as a quick diagnosis and prescription medicine- this sort of healing. But Woojin is figuring out that, just maybe, playing piano again wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

In fact, he’s starting to think it’s kind of a great one. 


End file.
